


One of us is dying.

by hazk



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Dialogue Heavy, Gen, Mind Games, Post-Season/Series 15, Tags May Change, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2019-06-22 04:29:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15573798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazk/pseuds/hazk
Summary: Temple breaks out of prison, only to lock himself up again. All for the fun of it.





	1. Intermission #?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RiaTheDreamer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiaTheDreamer/gifts).



He woke up as if hallucinating and his feet did not carry. He couldn't stop himself from trying to look around, even if the world was twisting in front of his eyes and made him wish he could knock himself right out again, just to not have to see it. 

“Wh, what the hell…”

His voice sounded shrill, it hurt his ears even when he could sort of tell his words were practically unintelligible. A shot of pain hit his neck and, before he could clear his mind any, it quickly traveled down the length of his spine and all the way to his toes.

He let out a grunt and felt his legs still trying – and failing – to give out from underneath him as the cramp increased in intensity.

Eyes open and the world still a mess of dark, splotchy color around him, Grif's brain managed to stick to one question, based on the very limited observations he had made so far:

_‘Am I standing up?’_

 

* * *

 

He was.

He was standing up.

Grif was made aware of that a few minutes later, when the rest of the lights above him were switched on with loud flickering, too bright to his dulled down sense of sight. He shut his eyes tightly for a moment and only after a long breath did he take a peek, which confirmed his upright position and made him aware of something else as well.

He was standing up, yes. His legs didn’t fold no matter how his muscles felt like tearing apart, yes.

But, more importantly, there was a ghost in the corner of the room.

“Fuck, oh fuck, _not -_ ”

“Hi, Grif…”

Even the quiet interruption was enough to snap Grif’s mouth shut.

Casually leaning against the wall, the Blue waved at him. Grif’s eyes registered the movement almost as if in slow motion.

Focusing on the wave made his eyes tear up when it added to his ever building headache, but Grif couldn’t look away either. Not from  _him_. Not again.

“You could have come visit me, I would have appreciated it. It's lonely in prison when you're known as the guy who almost blew up the entire planet. And right after the war, too… Go me.”

“…Tem-?”

“Sorry for the surprise, guessing you're not a fan? But it’s only fair I get what I want for once. Yeah. I’ve gotten a few extra paybacks worth of delays up in there so, I am just about done waiting. Surely you understand.”

Temple pushed himself off the wall, theatrically brushing off his armor before beginning his approach with a skip in his step.

Grif's eyes tried to desperately accustom to the shortening distance between them with his swirling vision, while his reflexes told him to back off – get back the safety of their previous distance and then some. But he couldn’t move.

Like slapped in the face with it, Grif did then recall that one memory related to Temple that could have more than explained why.

Blinking rapidly, Grif could only watch Temple approach him. The Blue was wearing his all too familiar armor but with more joy to its movement than Grif had ever seen before; not on Temple, and certainly never with Church.

The brief comfort of distance ended, with Temple now right on front of him. Still quiet. And if Grif had felt like throwing up before, the feeling was only made stronger by the reality of seeing Temple up close.

Attempting to pull away from him within the limitations of his armor - while simultaneously digging through his fuzzy brain for an explanation on why he was here, _and how -_  the first thing Grif managed to cling on to was the realization that Temple was shorter than him. Just slightly. A few inches.

Grif hadn’t noticed the last time around. He didn’t want to be close enough to know it now.

“So…” Temple said, breaking the silence and all too calm for Grif's liking. There was just something so fucked in the way the Blue maniac could smile without ever showing his face, distinctively different to the way everyone else armored Grif happened to know – which included Felix, of all people.

Grif didn’t want to think about Felix. No more than Temple.

“I am… honestly happy to see you again.”

Grif felt like he was losing his mind. He couldn't focus on anything, least of all the words coming out of Temple's mouth.

But if there was one thing Girf had to remember, it was that any word from Temple was obviously a lie, had to be. The man didn’t even try to hide it.

He didn't have to.

“What do you think?” Temple asked, studying Grif’s visor like he could see right through it.

“Back off…”

“No.” Temple's voice didn’t change, nor did the smile it held. “What do you think?”

Through labored breathing and a broken string of memories trying to resurface but immediately being cut short, Grif managed to cough out:

“What the fuck did you do?”

Temple tilted his head, approving Grif's question and moving on:

“Nothing much; not quite yet.”

 

* * *

 

It was a standstill of the most disconcerting kind.

Grif needed an explanation; Temple had no reason to give him one.

But in a move Grif honestly should have been expecting, the Blue did end up opening his mouth without too long of a delay. Only to confuse him further.

“I wanted to make us even.”

Grif bit down on his tongue, hard enough to taste blood.

Even if Temple couldn’t see his reaction, Grif could imagine he knew exactly what it was – knew to expect it. The guess seemed to be confirmed, when Temple’s voice tilted up in even more joy as he continued:

“You have earned this much and more, based on our _earlier encounter_. I won’t look down on you again.” Temple’s words were soft and painfully honest, all the way through his lies. They had to be lies.

Temple chuckled. “I just want to see which one of us will win, free of chance - fair and square.”

Lies.

“How, how the fuck are we supposed to be even!? _You have me -!_ ” Grif spat out with his voice beginning to clear a little, but was quickly drowned out by Temple raising his own in a more controlling manner:

“I have spent a lot of time thinking on this. Planning this. And yes, I know, that 'preparation' alone should mean I have the advantage… But! To balance out the game we have here, I have come up with a handicap that will certainly help you out. You’ll see in a minute, hell, you're going to be so surprised…“

Grif felt his skin crawl, listening to the man speak with such joy and pride coloring his voice. Saying he had a bad feeling about it would have been a gross understatement, and to match that idea the chill traveling down Grif's spine was so much worse than any since he had first woken up.

Locked in place and possibly starving to death was one thing; turning it into a “game” another.

Grif had no idea what Temple's limits were. Could be.

“ _Fuck. You_.”

Temple clicked his tongue, a familiar looking switch now held up to meet his eyes. Grif's throat clenched at the sight, rendering him unable to say anything more.

Faced with his silence, the way Temple's smile widened really was something Grif found all too easy to imagine, even without knowing what the man looked like underneath his helmet – he had never been interested to know that either, after Temple's imprisonment.

“This is going to be so much fun.”

Grif flinched, pulled deeper into his sinking thoughts by those few, simple words. Staring past the switch, another useless thing managed to cross his mind: He would have given anything to pull even an inch away from the blue visor, just to not have to see his own reflected on its surface. But that wasn't going to happen.

Temple’s smirk was as obvious as ever when he pressed the button.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the combination of two (or three) mini plots I came up with while working on Limbo. Gifted to Ria, who is my inspiration for writing Temple and did prompt some revenge during Angst War. I couldn’t write it then, but I'm glad to share this one with you!


	2. Keys unlock stuff

Grif collapsed.

He hit the floor with a deafening bang and no control over his limbs, every inch of him like water but in terrible pain. He gasped and cursed, almost sobbed at the way his body protested the sudden movement and fought to curl up despite the armor in his way, which, too, felt heavier than usual.

Then he let out an involuntary sigh of relief, immediately tensing up to look at Temple, standing above him, perfectly still –

With the controller held up in the air, exactly where Grif's face had been. Unmoving.

“What… _What the fuck -!_ ”

“Ohhh, so this is what it’s like, I've never tried before. Couldn’t trust anyone to actually release me, and it's not like this is something I could have ever done on my own, either. Tinkering with tech was always Loco’s thing but, got to say… This is pretty cool!”

Grif could have cried at the insanity of the situation. He had to be dreaming - it already was one hell of a nightmare.

“Did you, no, y-you seriously used the _armor lock on yourself?!_ ” With or without the obvious drugs still messing him up and playing with his senses, Grif knew he was screaming.

Temple replied with a laugh.

“You love it, right? The gift-wrapped villain all yours to deal with! What a handicap, my hands are frozen, can't stop whatever it is you wish to try out next –”

“You are fucking insane”, Grif stated the obvious, shock draining more of his voice with each word. All this while still lying on the floor, with noodles for feet and staring up at the posing Blue.

Posing, literally, with one gloved hand casually frozen on his hip and the other up in the air, taunting Grif with the controller.

Like a statue, Temple had fallen silent and Grif had never felt as uncomfortable in his life – and that was saying something, considering how he could normally lie down anywhere and still feel as close to home as he was getting. Anywhere but here.

“I could kill you.“

Grif didn’t recognize his own voice but after a few blinks realized that he meant what he had said. He could – _should?_ – kill the Blue, and Temple had made it easy enough. Knew exactly how to do that, too.

It worked both ways, though: Temple must have something so much more planned here, and had already said as much. It couldn’t be anything easy for Grif, only for himself… But Grif couldn’t focus on any other thought for longer than a second, when the only idea that carried over was:

“What’s stopping me? I could just kill you…”

Grif tasted the weight of the words and didn’t mind them nearly as much as he should have. Not here.

Temple let out a quiet, happy hum.

“You could. I left some weapons laying around, or, if you're feeling especially bloodthirsty, you could always just pull off my helmet and strangle me. I wouldn’t fight you”, Temple said, his voice coming off disembodied with the way the armor looked somewhere far off, not at Grif. “You won't _'kill me'_ , though. You're right. That would go a little too far.”

The idea of Temple peering down at him from that angle was far, far worse. Someone unable to move should not have had that effect on him.

Grif began to push himself up, feeling anger build over shock and fear, giving him the strength to face the frozen armor along with the man inside it. Temple had killed dozens of people; almost been the death of the entirety of Earth, if Grif and the others hadn’t stopped him.

And still. Grif was not safe here, even when the man appeared to really be locked in place.

“Spit it out”, Grif said, swaying on his feet as he backed away from Temple's direct field of vision. “Why not, why am I here?! _How!_ ”

“Because you're the one I wanted to see, bad enough to build all this for you?” When Grif didn't immediately come up with a reply, Temple continued: “You're here to test a theory.”

“Not interested”, Grif snapped, trying to read into Temple’s words as he surveyed the room for any clues not otherwise offered, intentionally circling behind the man. Still perfectly aware Temple would only say what he wanted, when he wanted.

Temple chuckled.

“Not your choice.”

Grif stopped on his feet and struggled to keep his mouth shut, to not give Temple the satisfaction of being questioned with whatever emotion had overcome him now. He bit his tongue to swallow his anger to the best of his ability.

Temple almost radiated with glee, as if appreciating Grif's decision to remain silent and aiming to reward him for it.

“I call this a game for a reason, and the rules are very simple: Yes, it is possible for us to move on with our lives if you just choose to go all out and fight me, by simply being brilliant. Here and now.”

Temple still sounded as honest as ever, praising him through insults. There was nothing new to that.

Grif’s hands were shaking. Nothing in the room stood out as something that could help him, it being mostly empty with a locker in one corners, indent of a doorway behind Temple's back, and a few boxes laying around. Temple had said there were weapons.

Only Temple knew what was happening and how the so-called rules worked. And, as fucked as it was, Grif only had his word to follow.

“And losing means…“ Grif said, letting out a small cough as he did. The question seemed to cheer Temple up even more as he went to answer:

“Death. Someone’s going to die by the end of this round, it would be all too boring otherwise. And, _as some might say_ , it’s about time I taste my own poison. We’ll see.”

Grif snorted, the taste of bile in his throat. “Like you would ever allow yourself _to ‘lose’_ , come off it!”

“Hm. But this wouldn’t be interesting without the possibility of either of us winning, and I mean it. You taught me that.”

“ _I am not –!_ ”

“There’s a key on the floor next to us. Figure out what it’s for and then we can talk some more”, Temple interrupted, his voice commanding but still managing to come off as oddly soft at the same. He didn't sound anything like the Temple Grif remembered from before, sounding even more unnerving without any hint of aggression.

The feigned friendliness was heavy within each syllable spoken and Grif couldn’t return it, not even for an act. Not while he was drugged out and panicking, leaving his mind and tongue hard to keep in control of.

“I don’t fucking want you to talk!” That wasn’t quite true.

Again, Grif snapped his mouth shut with an audible click and then looked at the floor, tearing his eyes off the back of Temple's neck. He saw the previously mentioned key by his feet, a keycard in fact, and felt anxiety claw at his chest even more when he considered having to kneel by the Blue if he wanted to reach it.

Temple remained quiet. Allowed Grif some time to come to his own conclusions. Although, there weren’t many to be made:

Grif had no idea what was happening. He really couldn’t afford not finding out.

“…Just tell me how you caught me, and I’ll… play.”

Temple clicked his tongue, audibly pleased with the outcome. “Sure, we can do that!”

 

* * *

 

“Now that I have your attention, and before you freak out on me any more than you already have, I need to make something clear”, Temple said, his tone that of a teacher faced with an unruly child:

“You shouldn't take off your armor. If you damage the lock on it, the system that keeps us in this room might be damaged as well – which is to say, they are connected. Now, that doesn’t mean the door won’t still open, but… I am not good with these things. So, you never know, and it's really up to you if you want to risk it.”

“Fucking great, but that’s not what –!”

“Next”, Temple interrupted him in a way that made Grif think he was reciting a well-practiced list he just had to get through, if only to keep his sanity in check. Like he had any left. “You need to be aware that I want this to be over soon, as much as you do. Starvation is, safe to say, effective yet boring. Not something I have in mind for you. Or me. We deserve… more than that.”

Coming from Temple, that could have anything. Grif gulped, about to open his mouth again, but not quite in time before Temple moved on:

“That’s that for now, so let’s move on to what you really _‘need to hear’_ , was it? How I caught you? Well, you were on Chorus, figuring out life after war and moving on. Without me, rude, but anyway; I broke free from prison and took a guess. Found you. Cornered you. _Caught you_. You have no memory of it. I want to keep it that way. And there really isn't anything else for me to say.”

The words were shot out as rapid fire, and even with no movement to Temple’s form, Grif really did feel their weight – or, the carefree lack of it. Having had enough, Grif clenched his jaw and yelled:

“No, you, you will _fucking tell me –!_ “

“ _I WON’T, GRIF!_ ”

Temple snapped, and even without being able to move, his yell overtook the room in a wave –

“ _I WON’T FUCKING TELL YOU! THAT’S NOT THE POINT!_ ”

Grif backed away. Temple didn’t move, but he sounded –

“ _YOU ARE NOT HERE TO TELL ME WHAT TO DO!_”

This wasn’t a Temple Grif had ever met before –

“Now then…”

A short pause, Temple’s voice having snapped back in place with calm and kindness that wasn’t quite enough to cover for his lack of breath after screaming like he had just been burned alive. But somewhere, with Grif’s eyes wide and his breath caught in his chest, he knew it must have been difficult for Temple to hold back the glee he must have been drowning in by now.

The room still echoed with his words. Temple’s voice still cracked, when he continued:

“Pick it up.”

Without the little disruptions in his pronunciation, Grif could have almost believed that the screams had never even happened in the first place. That’s how sudden they had been; Temple’s shift too smooth.

Grif kneeled, reaching for the keycard without any more of a fight.

 

 


	3. Don't wanna think

A room, expanding to all four directions around them, with its walls a mix of gray cement and metal plating. The design of the place could be easily called sturdy, impressive even at a time of war. And then there was the emptiness of it.

The one locker was white and without a handle, and the six boxes, or chests, on the floor were marked with the UNSC’s symbol and normally used for storing ammunition. Otherwise, there wasn’t much to take in, except of course the corner with that one impression that had to be the way out.

Not that any of it mattered, not to Grif who stared down at the keycard. He couldn’t bring himself to seriously play along and think what to do with the piece of plastic.

Grif could hardly even breathe. His ears were ringing.

He was beginning to feel like he was choking in the silence that had followed Temple's outburst, with his armor slowly crushing him even beyond the trap of a lock it now held. Temple had made it clear it was impossible to take off the armor weighing him down – that is, if Grif were to believe him.

But - _if_  - Temple had brought him here to test some theory of his, it only meant Grif could very well do the same. He had to.

First, Grif began to pull at his gloves to release his hands at least. Then, with his still-sluggish, swaying movement, he reached up for his helmet, desperate for air.

“Before you do that”, Temple was ready to point out, having silently monitored Grif's every move until then, “you might want me to confirm you can?”

“Then confirm it!” Grif snapped, his voice raspy and unable to fight the panic from showing even as his fingers almost obediently stalled over the latch on the back of his neck. He took a despairing breath with his eyes tightly shut. He wasn't going to lose like this, not yet, not again, some part of him tried to say; what was there to freak out about?

“If I can’t, I’ll just fucking die!” Grif yelled, the words followed by a violent coughing wit. Belatedly, he registered his own words before flinching at the truth of them. Oh, right. _That._

"No, you're right! Of course, please, go ahead!" Temple's cheerful reply was immediate and Grif hated himself for being thankful for something so pointless, what with him already back to opening the helmet's latch before the Blue's words had even reached him:

“I didn’t say much about our helmets – hint, hint: strangulation. You can take yours off, I made sure the locks connect to the rest of the armor instead. No trap there. I promise.”

Cursing under his breath as Temple chuckled at him, Grif pulled his helmet off. He stood so that Temple couldn’t see his face. Continued to fight just to catch his breath.

But there was one thing Grif did know: He would have to turn around sooner than later, which would let Temple see him. He knew he couldn't pull his act together in time, not the way he was already snapping. And that would cost him.

Temple seemed to know the same. He really wanted to make the moment more special.

“Grif… I’m so, so sorry to rush you into this, but I was prepared for your lack of motivation and really needed to come up with something to get us started without any more of a delay! So, I think, it's best for you to jump right to the meat of the matter without me having to make it into another riddle", Temple said, only pausing to let out a delighted sigh.

Grif heard his teeth crack under the pressure as the Blue continued:

"You are the one who knows best just what makes you tick. There's no need to guess, you most certainly have it right on the first try.”

Grif didn’t turn around, didn’t even move a muscle, but the flow of the words did hit his brain without a delay for once. Temple was right. At this point, he didn’t need to guess. Not that that mattered either, when Temple, ignoring his own words, had to take every opportunity to keep on talking: 

“I had this thought that you wouldn’t feel any need to fight for your life, especially not if dying gave you a chance to take me down with you. Such is your heroism, and I can admire it? It's not too unlike my own.”

For a guy who said he couldn’t move or fight him, Temple's attitude was too much for the tiny room they were in. It was too much. It had to be an act. Grif needed to know if he was lying.

Grif had to see his face. He had to know.

And anyway, Temple wanted them to be even. He wouldn't complain.

“The others… What did you do to them?” Grif said with his voice steady.

In a way, it was good that neither Grif's brain nor body was working right, as it prevented him from simply lashing out. If he had to push for answers, he would need to do it in a way that didn’t shut the Blue’s mouth instead. 

As expected, Temple seemed to appreciate Grif’s calmness – aimed to destroy it:

“Obviously you only ever get serious for your fucked-up clone of a team. And I do want them dead, too. You're not _that special_. Only your presence is.”

Without another word, Grif turned around and his gaze didn't waver. There was nothing to be afraid of, when it came to Temple as he was; locked in place. There were other things at stake and Grif wasn’t going to give the man the satisfaction of getting a more explosive reaction out of him. Not yet, when he could finally think just a little clearer –-

Grif stepped forward, walked up to Temple, and reached for the clasps on his helmet. He had already pulled off his own out of necessity.

Taking off Temple's could be no worse.

“Oooh!” Temple cheered after a brief, almost surprised, silence and immediately managed to make it so, so much fucking worse with his flippant excitement alone. “Is It finally here? Finally, time for some torture porn? Don’t disappoint me now, world –!”

The words didn’t help.

Grif still felt like throwing up. His head spun. He couldn’t stop thinking about it; killing Temple -

“Shut the fuck up!”

Temple didn’t.

“Hey Grif, _Dex_ , let's make this a little more personal, shall we –?”

“ _Shut._ _Up_.”

Grif pulled at Temple's helmet, violently yanking it off his head. He had sort of forgotten it would mean they were now staring each other in the eye, for the first and last time.

 

 


	4. On your mark

Temple's skin sagged and was almost translucent in color. Together with his sunken eyes, and the ever-polite smile, it was a clear sign of how little he cared.

“You’re ugly as fuck.” That was a lie, despite everything.

Temple looked sick – no better than Grif himself, most likely. But any way to insult him while he could do nothing about it was godsent, Grif had long since decided.

And now Grif could see just how Temple's smile grew a little wider at his words, a tad more manic than the friendly charade he so adamantly held on to with his voice.

“Thanks, but anyway – what exactly did you have in mind for me?”

Grif raised his chin to appear a little taller. Temple seemed to be biting back a laugh at the gesture.

“What did you do to them?”

Temple couldn’t move. Grif wasn’t going to stop asking questions.

As if measuring exactly how far to take the act, Temple's head tilted, as much as it could with the armor’s collar holding his neck in place. “To your Reds and Blues? Nothing. Now that wouldn’t be fair.”

Grif grit his teeth. Temple's expression was as honest as he had imagined it to be. There were no cracks in his smile, other than his teeth peeking out. Sharp.

Temple had to be lying.

“ _‘Nothing much’, ‘nothing yet’_ ; what the fuck are you planning for them, then!” Grif snarled and Temple nodded his head in appreciation.

“You've been listening! Wonderful, thank you, that is all I truly am asking for… And I don’t mind giving you an answer, this time: we have sent them an invitation and I have a well recorded history of… well… _blowing people off_.”

Grif’s eyes widened, the slack muscles not quite under his control.

“You, you made a trap of –!”

“A trap, maybe. Of you? Perhaps. And you think they would never enter one _for you_ , which I don’t exactly disagree with; you're as worthless to them as you are to me, take that as you will. Well, it's your problem to come to terms with, not mine… I just happen to know you’re not the type to risk it. Them.”

Without thinking, Grif did the only thing his reflexes allowed. In a burst of anger, he raised his fist to punch the Blue in his smug face.

The attempt was a total failure.

Instead of making contact with Temple's chin, Grif almost instantly stumbled and lost hold of the one thing he had been carrying: the keycard. Unceremoniously, the piece of plastic flipped in the air, hitting the floor with a soft click.

Both Grif and Temple stared after it.

Grif did have the mind to immediately regret the move, especially with the way Temple then struggled to hold back his laughter:

"O-oh, wow, what a talent! What a soldier the UNSC has been missing out on -!"

 

* * *

 

The keycard was back in Grif’s hand, after yet another kneel. He had tried not to hear the way Temple had snickered when he had given in and gotten it back.

The only plus was that even Temple seemed to not want to push his luck any further, not saying another word in case it could be enough to push Grif too far and get him to give up. Maybe neither of them really afforded the delay – Grif could only guess starvation was an issue to them both, then.

Or, maybe, Temple just feared the discomfort of his current position.

Or. Maybe. Temple just didn’t care:

“While you’re working on figuring that one out –”

“You…” Grif hissed, turning his back to Temple and screwing his eyes shut as the words forced their way out of his throat: “You want me to do this! Let me!”

“No distractions? Okay. _But…_ ”

“NO!”

Temple revealed his teeth - Grif couldn’t help but to glance back and see him do it. There was an involuntary step back he took, as if in preparation for whatever reaction Temple would have ready for his… insubordination.

Oh hell, did Grif hate the lack of sound and movement in the room, certain Temple could release himself from the lock whenever he wanted, ready to take him down. For now, though, Temple just pulled his head back and sighed.

“One answer to puzzle related questions per every thirty minutes. I have the time to keep track.”

Barely registering the words, Grif shook his head in confusion. “…What?”

“Every thirty minutes”, Temple repeated, once more having sidetracked Grif to follow his rule, “I’ll let you ask a question. My answers might vary in their clarity but I will really, truly try to be of use to you. I promise.”

Grif bit his tongue, then lowered his shoulders. This was the game Temple wanted them to play. It had to be.

“And if I asked what the key card is supposed to be used for…?”

“I might tell you a general direction, or even something about its major end-game importance. Things like that”, Temple said and licked his lips. “But there is one catch…” Like the devil he was.

“Oh!” Grif snorted, throwing his head back in a mockery of Temple's limited gestures. “Is there ever, I wouldn’t have gue–!”

“Shhh, shut it, or I’ll take it all back”, Temple hummed under his breath, cracking his neck to the best of his ability with his eyes closed in calm. Every muscle in Grif’s body tensed, but the impact was all there: He did snap his mouth shut. He listened.

Temple opened his eyes and looked up at the ceiling, the lights there having to be making him blind.

“I get bored easily enough and these chats of ours are one of my rare enjoyments at this point. What that means is, I might give you hints anyway just as long as you keep talking to me.”

Grif didn’t want _that –_

“But… If you really are desperate, if you really wish to get out in time and save your friends from whatever trap there may or may not exist, you will pick up this controller, every thirty minutes or so –”, Temple’s eyes dropped to said button, still frozen in his own hand, “– and use it.”

Grif’s mouth fell open. His eyes snapped at the controller. “What –!?“

“Only if you voluntarily switch our places, release me and lock yourself down, will I give you something actually useful. And maybe even solve an entire puzzle for you, if you ask me nicely.”

Temple’s eyes lifted to meet Grif’s. His smile was innocent enough.

“If you release me, even just for a second, you can try to order me around all you want”, Temple continued, just to be clear, and Grif hated him for it that much more. Hated how all he could do was stand there in disbelief, in truth unable to move any more than the lock on Temple allowed.

“Afterwards, you can tell me to press the button again, to release you, and I will. You just have to trust me, Dex.”

Grif’s jaw clenched.

“Don’t fucking call me that.”

Grif was too tired to yell. It wouldn’t change anything anyway.

Temple wanted to piss him off, yes. He wanted to make Grif lose it. All of this was designed to make it happen. But…

Temple was right, too – Grif couldn’t risk that happening. Even if keeping completely quiet didn’t suit him, there was no balance there that he could easily settle into. Especially not if there was more than his own life on the line.

“I’ll try my best not to”, Temple replied, his smile widening at an unnatural pace as he watched Grif, appearing aware of every thought passing through his head. “By the way, _Grif_ … Do you even know my first name? Read any news, listen to your company curse me six feet under? Done any of that yourself?”

Grif didn’t see the point in answering and Temple didn’t seem to care. If he did, he would let Grif know.

“It’s Mark. Mark Temple. I wouldn’t mind you calling me by it, so…”

“I won’t”, Grif snapped, unable to keep the disgust from seeping into his voice. He couldn’t stop staring at the controller.

Temple chuckled, following his gaze.

“And I, of course, can't make you…”

Glancing up – despite his mind still, always, screaming at him to not be such an idiot – Grif looked at Temple. Who winked at him. Who never appeared to be lying, no matter how obvious it was based on his words.

Temple could more than make Grif say his name. He would.

Grif swallowed and turned back to his task, to figure out the key on his own. The frozen Blue followed his every move with open interest.

 

 


	5. Exits all around

A key card shouldn’t be too big of a problem to solve. Not in a room as empty as this, where there weren’t many options available.

Slowly, practically crawling on his feet, Grif made it to one chest at a time to properly look at them. They were all locked, some with combinations, but the key had no effect. In no time, it led him to the locker instead.

The locker had a hidden panel on the front. Behind it was a reader, which was flashing red with an error message.

“The fuck…”

With trembling fingers, Grif reached for the interface, pressing the card against its surface. There was no change, but he did notice that the panel was loose, making it easy for him to pull it off the locker and see, to no real surprise, some of the wires connecting them having been detached.

“Need help?” Temple asked once a moment of silence had passed, only to be ignored by Grif who let out a small cough before reaching for the wires. He began to connect them without any real thought paid to how he had no clue what he was doing, although aware of just how unsafe it must have been.

A familiar feeling was clinging to the back of his neck, making him feel like even breathing was taking too much of an effort – it forced him to hurry, with the _need_ to get out of here.

When Grif had first woken up, it had taken a lot out of him just to clear his mind and senses enough to be aware of his surroundings. Now, with nothing but the isolated silence and Temple’s stare, he could feel his body begin to crash under the pressure.

Whatever drug Temple had used on him appeared to have very similar aftereffects to that of the meth mushroom on the moon, Grif thought in disdain, attempting to block out the memory and its many implications before they could distract him. Though, it proved to be a little too late for that:

The confusion and lack of energy did bring along that one side effect Grif would have loved to have left behind, not even realizing it as the uncontrolled words made it out in the form of a rambling breath: “Fuck, this is… I… I need to sleep, I can’t, this isn’t, got to –”

The shift didn’t go unnoticed my Temple, of course, his attention entirely on Grif. He cut Grif’s meltdown short, calling out: “And I wouldn’t recommend it, time limit or not!”

Temple’s words made Grif's mouth snap shut, biting down on his tongue to stop talking. Not to forget that Grif’s self-hatred did also flare as he found himself thankful for Temple’s interruption, praying he wouldn't slip again.

“Why?” Grif had to ask, in a more controlled manner. He lowered the wire in his hand and glanced behind himself.

At being addressed – with eye-contact, even! – Temple let out a grateful hum.

“Well, you see, the night is dark and full of terrors… Or something like that.”

Grif shuddered at the playful reply and turned his glare back at the wires, focusing on the way the plastic clung to his sweaty palms. He should have known better. “Don’t fucking ruin Game of Thrones for me.”

“You've seen it? A classic”, Temple said, visibly perking up at the reference being caught. Grif made a face.

“We are _not talking about this_.”

“Aww, but Grif”, Temple whined, “we could still be friends –!”

“THERE!” Grif yelled, half to distract Temple and the other pure elation at figuring out how to connect the wires and make the locker work again, against all reason. Rising to his feet, Grif allowed himself a small grin – hidden from Temple’s view, just to feel a sense of victory before it would, no doubt, be taken from him again.

“Oh, _oh!_ ” The distraction worked, and Temple’s eyes glistened as he looked from Grif to the locker, the error message gone. “I knew you could do it! You are _amazing!_ ”

Grif wanted to throw an insult Temple’s way, but held it in. Despite how much the Blue’s feigned, patronizing pride did piss him off, he couldn't give Temple the satisfaction of replying to all his coaxing.

“Use the card, use the card!” Temple encouraged and Grif did glance back at him just to confirm that yes, he looked excited enough to literally break free of his armor any second now. Like a child, Temple’s eyes were all too bright when they met Grif’s.

For sure, Grif would have loved to not do anything Temple wanted from him, wishing he could instead throw the card away again. But he had already lost that game by picking it up once, _twice_ , and anything on top of that would just make Temple feel more like a god.

Without a word, Grif did use the card. With deep focus, both him and Temple stared at the locker as the light on the reader flashed green.

They waited.

When a minute had passed with no other sound or sign of life, Grif's eyes turned ever so slowly back at Temple. At least Temple had the decency to look surprised, although Grif had serious doubt it was for real.

“It didn’t work.” Grif’s voice had lost all emotion.

Temple's eyes flew back to Grif and he bit down on his lip in thought, slumping even with the armor not moving an inch.

“You won’t believe me, but that wasn’t intentional. It should –”, Temple went to say before pausing to gesture with his chin, “– Try it, pull at the frames.” Grif squinted at him and the look made Temple frown. “Or, you can let me?”

Not needing any more prompting, Grif stepped closer to the locker and attempted to pry the door off its frame with mere force. It didn’t work.

“Locked. It's still locked, _fucking locked –!_ ”

Grif’s voice had risen, the words escaping him.

“Ahh…” Temple sighed, watching as Grif continued to spit out curses with his hands going up to pull at his hair. There was a twitch to the corner of Temple’s lip, his eyes ever so apologetic. “I didn’t have too much time for testing, so… Uhm, sorry about that?”

Grif fell silent in an instant. His hands dropped down as he moved, sharper than before, to kick the locker with a deafening bang.

The sound echoed in their small cell, all on its own for a second before Grif joined in:

“…you are apologizing? For your bullshit _trap NOT WORKING!?_ ” Grif yelled, his voice cracking and shrill. His hands curled into fists as he began to lose control of his breathing. “Y-you, you can't be fucking serious, you're kidding me -!”

In contrast, Temple’s voice was quiet; almost nonexistent: “What can I say… Tech isn’t exactly my thing – I had Loco for that, before. You know this. Led to it, really.”

Grif could hear Temple's words beginning to crack, different to his, as small chuckles broke through his apologies. Slowly, Grif turned to face him, just as Temple fell into a full-blown giggling fit.

Temple was laughing like crazy, overjoyed enough to look like he might just swallow his own tongue, and throughout it Grif wanted nothing more than to slit his throat. To shut him up for good.

With that thought, Grif’s fingers twitched at his side, telling him to go for it. With effort, he was able to settle with screaming out his anger instead:

“THE LEAST YOU COULD DO IS MAKE SURE –!”

Grif broke down coughing, folding in half at the force of the fit he was having, tears in his eyes. Temple began to immediately coo at him:

“You poor, little thing… But! Rejoice! It’s not the end of the world, man, there is always the backup plan I have prepared! Although it would still do you well to remember that I, personally, have nothing better waiting for me outside of this place. It left room for relaxed tinkering, when it comes to how I arranged our little lockdown…”

“And how the fuck is that supposed to count as _‘fair’_!” Grif spat out, literally, through the intense cough that Temple paid no mind to.

“If something fails, it’ll kill us both. See; as fair as you can get. Aren’t I nice.”

“…the fucking greatest”, Grif hissed, forced to calm down by his lack of breath. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand in disdain, then glanced at the locker. _He had to keep playing_ , he knew. There was nothing else.

Grif grit his teeth and asked: “What now? Where’s the ‘backup’?”

If Temple could have shrugged, he would have. Grif could practically see him do it.

Hated him some more for being so open about it; so easy to read, yet not at all.

“How the fuck am I supposed to figure it out then? I did what you wanted, followed your bullshit trap here, and that didn’t work. What now?” It was hard not to continue screaming about it, but Temple seemed to appreciate the little effort Grif was willing to take to hold himself back –

“ _Tick tock_ ”, Temple sang, happy to be dealing with him. "Find something else. Either or, you could always just ask nicely…"

Grif could feel the walls closing in on him and his body shivered. In truth, it was the panic clawing at the back of his throat that made him do as he was told.

 

 


	6. Face thyself

“Do something. Just… fucking do it.”

“Something? It? I can’t ‘ _do’_ a thing except talk, remember?” Temple said and rolled his eyes. “The deal is for you to release me; no use saying it unless you do.”

Grif’s heart was beating too fast and he could barely hear Temple’s words. But no thoughts were needed for actions, and all he wanted for even a mere second was a break.

His eyes locked on to the switch and Grif stumbled up to Temple to reach for it. Temple kept his mouth shut as he watched, the switch in his hand conveniently held up to his eyes.

It was a struggle, all things considered, to release Temple’s hold on the switch without him helping. But once it was done, Grif stepped back with weak feet, thinking briefly that the switch had no weight.

The big, red button had a rare effect of not looking desirable to press. Still, a second later, Temple’s hand lowered.

“And that’s how easy it was”, Temple said as his body slumped under the weight of his armor, almost hitting the floor. He showed no sign of embarrassment at his lack of strength. “Hope you chose a comfortable stance; as short as it was, even my time did take its toll.”

The only reply was Grif’s breathing, ragged and loud. Temple sighed.

“Silence then, alright. Not very helpful, now is it?”

Temple walked up to him and leaned closer, peeking past the mess that was Grif’s hair. Grif didn’t return the look, his eyes shut tight.

“Time to take control, Grif, you can’t just shut down on me. _Tell me what to do_.”

Grif let out a small cough, belatedly followed by the only order he could think of: “The backup. Give it to me.”

Temple bit his lip. “A good one, I like that…” Leaning back, he stretched a little more and turned to look around the room. He glanced at the indentation of the door, mumbling to himself:

“You didn’t even check that out, did you? So sure it wouldn't be it… So sure.”

Not going towards the “door”, however, Temple turned to the chests and headed straight to one of them.

“Should be here, I think.”

Temple kneeled by the chest furthest from the locker and began to fiddle with the lock – a combination, Grif remembered, peeking out in an attempt to focus on something other than the beating of his heart in his otherwise frozen state. With every breath, he became more aware of just how close he still was to throwing up.

“Here we go…”

Temple twirled a hand ceremoniously in the air, as if bowing, before he threw open the lid. Grif’s eyes were watering as he tried to crane his neck to see inside, seeing how slow Temple was, or seemed to be, at showing him.

Raising to his feet, Temple spun around and hid the item behind his back. All Grif had had time to register was its glint.

“That’s –“, Grif coughed, fighting to refocus as his body continued to shiver uncontrollably. “W-what is it?”

“Well…” Temple said, seeming to balance the object on his hands as he squinted at Grif’s face. “You look a little… iffy. Doing alright in there?”

“Fuck you”, Grif hissed, the words dropping out with a lack of emotion. “What is it. Show me.”

“Eh… I could show you, or you could check it out for yourself… But seriously.” Temple smirked. “You might want to deal with _that_ first.”

“What?” Grif mumbled, blinking rapidly and fighting the crick in his neck. Restricted coughing wits weren’t good for you, apparently.

Temple hummed, releasing his right hand from behind his back to gesture vaguely at Grif's face. “All of that.” With a lift of a brow and a curious look, he then added:

“You haven’t noticed?”

Grif just stared at him blankly and Temple's brow twisted, pulling a disgusted face. “Have some self-respect, ugh. You must have felt it, at least.”

“What… what the hell are you on about?” Grif asked, his voice almost impossible to catch even to his own ears. He tried to clear his throat, only to feel like curling up in pain from the pain it caused. “W-what the fuck is…?”

“Wanna inspect?” Temple gestured at Grif's face some more, still vaguely disgusted, before pointing at the controller on Grif's frozen hold. Innocently, he tilted his head. “You could. Just ask.”

It was the continuous mantra in his head: Grif didn’t want this, to listen, play the game, reply, but it was happening anyway. Had been for a while.

Grif was barely a participant in whatever was going on; barely in his right mind to see it through. Even without Temple doing a thing unless ordered to do so, Grif had no choice. He did know that. And he couldn’t breathe.

“…yes.”

Temple smiled and didn’t say anything when he stepped up to Grif and plucked the controller from his hand. Grif stared past him, practically unseeing with the way his eyes kept tearing up at each little cough that he could no longer hold back, his body awake and registering just how bad he actually felt.

With the controller in his hands, Temple took a step back before fixing his stance to be a little more comfortable, shaking his shoulder to relax. One more breath later, too long for Grif’s comfort, he said:

“Your turn, then.”

A press of the button, and it was Grif’s turn to slump forward. Immediately, he went to grasp for his head.

But there was something else he noticed that stopped him midway through the movement.

Eyes on the floor, Grif saw the gloves and the helmet he had dropped earlier, _forever ago_ , still innocently laying there. Too conveniently obvious with their message.

Staring at the helmet, Grif could see the dark streak that had long since dried to its surface. And then a fresh drop of crimson hit the floor.

Numbly, Grif reached for his mouth, ran his fingers over the corner of his lips and under his nose, and looked down at them.

The blood was unmistakable.

Grif felt a bang in his chest and then, dizzily still, turned to Temple with his bloodied hand held up in the air and far from him, not knowing what to do with it.

“…what did you –?”

“One of us is dying. No matter what. I told you.”

“Dying…” Grif repeated after him, his voice but a wheeze of breath when the understanding hit him:

“Not going to die… _Dying_.”

 

 


	7. Even-Steven

_"You fucking poisoned me?!_ ”

Temple shrugged, again with his presence alone. Grif couldn’t breathe, and it wasn’t because of anger or any other overwhelming emotion.

“Multiple time limits, as it were”, Temple sighed, pretentiously apologetic in the way his voice shook with his words. “I had to do a little pre-planning to make sure you either make it out in time to save your darling Reds and Blues… Or don’t.”

Grif's eyes were hurting, stinging. There was blood dripping down his chin and every inch of his skin _itched_.

“W-what the hell is wrong with you, you gotta be, you said there was no point to, you -!” Grif slumped forward, clawed at his hair. He could practically feel the way his thoughts and words spiraled out of control and he choked on it, the blood from his palms staining his hair as he held onto his scalp. _“Fuck, I don’t –! WHY!?_ ”

It had taken seconds to render Grif useless. Temple purred, or snarled, or laughed at the display, his voice as equally unhinged as the dismissal in his reply:

“Eh, I’ve got more hints to share and only one way to go about it, really. You know the rules and, again, it's not like I actually want to help you beyond a certain point.”

Just another short second later, Grif was back in control. Or something akin to control, anyway.

Blinking rapidly, Grif turned to face Temple, his pupils blown wide. “I could make you. I could make you tell me.”

Had he said that before? He must have, based on the way Temple's smirk pulled back to reveal more of his teeth.

“Back to torture? Hmm… With that in play, maybe you’d like to check what exactly was in the chest? I think you’ll like it.”

Ignoring Temple's giddiness, Grif walked up to him. Stepping closer than before, and not looking away from him, he circled to Temple's side.

Holding on to its sharp edges, Temple’s hand was clasped around a knife.

Grif’s breath hitched at the sight and, before he knew what he was doing, his hand was reaching for the weapon. With a palm shaking out of fatigue rather than fear, he held on to the handle and, carelessly, pulled the blade free from Temple’s fingers.

The Blue hissed, but if he really had felt any pain at the action it was all covered by the small bursts of laughter he couldn’t hold in even when he had trouble speaking through them:

“Here’s an idea; aren’t you curious about the poison? Now that I would love to explain in excruciating detail, if you have the time.”

Temple snorted again and Grif's ears were no longer ringing - as blood rushed to his head, the pressure caused an echo instead.

“No.”

Grif landed a hand on Temple’s shoulder and used his frozen frame to steady himself. He took a shaking breath, straightened on his feet, and backed away to face Temple.

“How do I get out of here. Tell me.”

“An order! In this instance, I appreciate it –”, Temple said as Grif took a step closer to him, “– but sadly, I have to say no. Got nothing on it. The poison, on the other hand –”

“ _Shut. Up”_ , Grif snarled.

“Don’t you just get tired of saying that? Oh, and isn’t that the opposite of what you’re asking for? Could always just cut off my tongue, but no! Like I said! You need me still, need me to talk, so much more than you’ve ever needed anything before…”

Grif raised the knife up to Temple's eye-level. The Blue inched his face back as much as the armor allowed, eyes crossed to focus on the blade he must have had personally sharpened to celebrate the occasion, what with the appreciative way he studied it.

Temple’s smile didn’t falter, but Grif's hand wasn’t shaking anymore either. Taking note of that, Temple's expression turned a tad more impressed.

“Since you really can't just cut my throat for answers, I assume you’ll be going after my eyes instead? Simple slashes would be fucking boring”, Temple crudely pointed out before turning his eyes questioningly at Grif. His brow lifted, coaxing him on.

This time Grif returned the smile, glad Temple could see him do it.

“Yeah”, Grif said, his voice steady as he thought about it, running through ideas and finding only blanks. “Guess that's gonna have to be it.”

Grif had no reason to hold back, did he? No time to lose, and he already felt like throwing up, anyway. Couldn’t get much worse than this. Temple was in charge, yes, and Grif could only let him have what he was asking for.  

With that in mind, Temple’s smile must have matched Grif's, the glint in his eye impossibly pleased with the both of them.

“Good. I’d hate for you to bore me.”

 

* * *

 

Inch by inch, the knife got closer to Temple’s face. Temple didn’t look at its glint though, entirely focused on Grif’s eyes.

Grif didn’t take his own off the blade.

There was no sign of Temple backing down, not mentally or in the literal sense considering he had no way to run. The Blue had planned for this, or believed Grif wouldn’t go through with it, or –

The blade reached the skin under Temple’s left eye.

The weapon appeared even brighter against the paleness of his skin, his flesh easily pressed down as Grif found himself unable, or unwilling, to stop his hand from moving. Temple didn’t move either. Didn’t make a sound, nothing that could distract Grif from his task or cause him to slice at Temple in a way not preferable, whatever that may mean for either of them.

Grif saw the line of red that formed under the blade, under Temple’s eye, and it was all happening so slow. Was it?

Grif’s vision blurred.

“What do you want to know?”

It was barely a whisper, Temple careful not to surprise Grif or move his face too much as he had said it. The blade stopped.

The cut was small, just enough to break Temple’s skin, and Grif’s throat stung. Just a little bit of blood, running down the edge of the blade and following the lines of Temple’s face. Far less than the amount Grif had already coughed up, and even that wasn’t much at all.

Not yet.

Temple’s teasing was there, his vague kindness was there, his expectations and tests were all there. Grif stared at the blade.

What did Temple want from this? For Grif to lose his mind like the Blue had obviously lost his?

If that was it, it was working. It wasn’t long since Grif had first woken up in the room, and this was how easy it was to get him to jump right off the edge.

He was doing exactly what Temple had predicted in the minutes after Grif had first opened his eyes. 

“Like you’d, ever tell me. What I wanted to know”, Grif said haltingly, and barely registered his own words. Temple hummed in agreement. Or disagreement. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter.

Grif was having a hard time saying anything for sure. His body was shutting down.

“But Grif, you know I would. I promised. _‘Slashes would be boring’_ , did you even hear me say that? Plunge that thing right in my eye and I might have something good to share with you, unless, of course, you put a little too much force into it and break right through my –“

Grif pulled the knife back, and practically felt a whole-body flinch push him away from the Blue’s tad shorter frame to escape his presence. Just like before.

Or, maybe, he was pulling his arm back, maybe he was about to strike, maybe Grif had no fucking idea what he was doing; but the smirk fell off Temple’s face and his eyes widened, and he looked at the blade for the first time since Grif had gotten his hands on it, and his mouth opened, and Grif realized he was the one yelling, not Temple, _right back to ordering the Blue to shut his mouth –_

Temple started coughing. Violently so.

Instinctively, Grif’s eyes snapped shut and he backed further away, his whole body recoiling all over again. He almost fell and, as if a spell had broken, Grif looked at the Blue and his mind overworked itself to get back in gear and _understand_ just what was happening.

Temple let out a hiss and spat on the ground, his meticulously cheerful expression broken once more. Grif's mouth well open at the look of him.

Grif shook his head, almost losing his hold on the knife’s handle. “No, you… You're not…”

“T-told you”, Temple growled through his grimace, unable to keep hiding the pain as the blood trickled down the corner of his mouth, his eyes watering the same way as Grif’s had. “We’re even.”

 

 


	8. Draught and a Tinderbox

“Starving… Dehydrated…  _Fucking poisoned_ …”

The moment had been broken, and so had Grif.

Grif shook his head in a helpless gesture, and then stopped, because even that little movement felt like death as his brain rattled in his skull. “And you… you thought this was a good idea…?”

“Uhm.” Temple coughed again, looking almost pitiful in the way he couldn’t even wipe the blood from his face. More likely, though, was that the pity and all related emotions were all directed straight at his orange companion. “Ugh… Grif? T-this is exactly what I wanted, so… Do try to keep up.”

And that was enough of that.

Grif pulled his arm back and punched Temple right in the bridge of his nose, which made a disgusting cracking sound before sending more blood splattering everywhere. Temple grunted, and his neck barely allowed his head to snap back at the force of the strike.

Temple began gasping for breath with his nose broken and throat stuffed with blood, but Grif didn’t back away.

Grif didn’t give a shit, his eyes mere slits as he watched Temple struggle in place. What he was feeling was something closer to curiosity, now; finally, almost in his right mind and overwhelmingly non-disturbed by what he had almost done just a few moments earlier. A punch was nothing, in comparison.

 _You know_ , a part of Grif chimed in, because yes… Yes, he knew exactly what it was he would have preferred to do to the Blue.

The knife wasn’t going anywhere.

 

* * *

 

The knife.

With Temple out of it to curse and catch his broken breath, Grif began to actually study the now-bloodied blade on his hand. Temple had given it to him.

Temple had called it the backup, which Grif had specifically asked him to give him. Trusting Temple to have a plan behind everything, what was Grif supposed to do with it?

Did Temple really intend for Grif to torture the answers out of him, to get a clue for something to replace the broken locker?

Or.

Maybe.

The knife was just Temple’s way to give Grif a distraction in case he began to lose track of his actual reason for being here. Get Grif to waste his time some more, only to regret it later. That was their game -

It wasn’t Temple who was being tortured, now was it?

“Use it”, Temple snapped, his anger flaring as he spat out some more blood. But the anger wasn’t directed at him, Grif realized. In fact, Temple just looked like he was in quite a bit of pain and uninterested in keeping it from him. How great was that.

“For what?”

“ _The locker!_ Get the blade through the side, or the hinges, and _FUCKING OPEN IT!”_

Grif took his time to look at Temple before turning his eyes at the locker, just to feel some gratification at the way the Blue’s breath kept hitching in a mix of anger and pain.

What was it, what Grif had thought about pointlessly wasting time… But no, this wasn’t a waste; not for his mental health, it wasn't. He needed this, even when they both knew exactly what he was going to do next.

The moment to wipe Temple's blood off his skin passed, and maybe that was why it didn’t even piss Grif off all that much when he had the locker open in just a few minutes. With the added leverage, and finding just the right spot by the lock, the door hadn't taken much effort at all to break down.

All that for this, Grif thought as the door swung open and he stared at the content, another wave of exhaustion washing over him as he wiped his eyes, to help them focus a little more on the next step of the puzzle. Because a puzzle it was.

The contents made no more sense than –

“You… you could always give up?”

Temple was ready to throw another wrench into the mix, and no amount of drowning in his own blood would stop him, it seemed. Grif couldn't help but to chuckle, though, at the way Temple's clogged nose made his voice disgustingly nasal.

“And what good would that do… For anyone but you”, Grif said, half-way to hysterical laughter and too done to fight it. “Fuck no, it's too late for that.”

Inside the locker, propped against the back, was a shotgun.

The same make and model as the one Sarge carried with him, but one Grif could easily separate based on this one's more pristine condition. This weapon had obviously never been used, not to the same extend as Sarge’s even if the Red took great care of his weapon of choice.

“If you stay here”, Temple continued, ignoring Grif’s denial to carefully word his rebuttal, “I could still let your… _‘friends’_ live.”

Grif laughed some more at that - or hiccuped, more like. First a knife, then a shotgun. Not to forget the poison, no. Temple had left exits all around them; simple solutions, a waiting game -

“Hell you would. You want us all dead –”

“Sure do! I told you as much, no lies there!” Temple interrupted rather urgently, which did catch Grif’s attention. “But, speaking from my personal experience -”, Temple's voice was wheezing, but he had gotten his smile back to full effect by the time Grif looked back at him, “- living’s not all it’s made out to be.”

The intention behind his words was made more telling by the blood on Temple's teeth, and Grif could't help but to let out another snort.

“What? You still think…” Grif held back a giggle, the idea as absurd as ever when he ran to his own conclusions. He was something of an expert with Temple’s mindset by now, disturbing as it was, and he did remember how the game had first started:

“You are wrong, so fucking wrong. Like they, the Reds and Blues, would be ruined, the way you were, _by me dying!_ That’s just you being fucking insane, doing this, yeah, sure, they might go after you for trying to trap _them_ , but that's –!”

“Of course! You can think as you wish, Grif, but I can promise you to be fair about it when they do come for me. You, you know I can do that”, Temple pointed out, to Grif's great annoyance. “I have no problem letting them hunt me, a-and they, they would still be alive to challenge me back, so –”

“There’s nothing ‘fair’ about this! _Stop saying there is!”_ Grif snapped.

Temple's smile dropped to make way for something a little more hurt. The expression appeared fake yet not at the same, Grif thought as he found himself reaching out for the shotgun.

“Ow… I’m literally dying a sped-up version of the way I killed all those Freelancers, a-and it's your choice if I, I do or don’t.” Temple was frowning at him, in a bloodied and bruised attempt at puppy eyes maybe, which Grif was quick to look away from. “What could I have done better, Grif?”

“You could have fucking stayed in prison and let us be! That would have been as fair as it gets! What, you blame me, us, from stopping you from killing all those people; _the whoLE FUCKING PLANET!?_ Almost killed _what's left of our families and friends, along with everyone else!?_ And you think we’re the ones at fault here?” Grif yelled out, despite the pain it caused him, and only earning himself a similarly broken laugh from Temple.

As Grif's blood boiled, Temple coughed out more of his own. 

“I don’t really care, Grif. Not about your motives and failures, or even mine. Does it serve you right, make us even? Blame or no blame, who cares! We'll see this through, anyway.”

There was no sane logic to apply here, and they both knew it. That doesn't mean Grif wasn't getting tired of the bullshit:

“You could have disappeared after escaping from prison, but no – _YOU CLEARLY CARE ENOUGH TO FUCKING DO THIS IN THE FIRST PLACE!”_ Grif gestured at the two of them, at the blood on the floor, the shogun in his arms, _everything_.

Temple huffed, slipping back to glaring. “Yeah, you have me there”, he snapped, “but I promise you that I sure as hell don’t care enough to be the one making it out of here alive.”

 

* * *

 

If Grif managed to get out, he had no idea where he was and how to save the Reds and Blues. Or if he even had anyone to save in the first place.

But if Temple made it out, he would either find a way to instantly kill the Reds and Blues or arrange some similar ‘game’ for them too. Grif had no faith Temple would ever let them go, for any reasons other than some twisted form of revenge.

To add to that line of reasoning, Grif had by now realized it couldn’t be long since Temple had broken out of prison, considering the Reds and Blues hadn't heard of it happening during their stay on Chorus: How the hell could the ex-simulation trooper have had the time to prepare even more than the room they were in, with no one left to help him.

And an actual bomb to go with his trap, if his earlier implications were anything to go by…?

Grif wasn’t buying it.

“You really are just fucking with me, aren’t you? Do you, you actually want me to kill you? Or just keep me here? You got to have confirmed you're the one who… ‘wins’. No matter what.”

Despite whatever Temple may say, that was the one thing Grif had to believe in.

Temple scoffed, still not hiding the disappointment he felt as he watched Grif. “So… Now’s the time to prove escape is impossible-slash-pointless, is it? Done fighting? Fucking perfect.” The pain he was in sure was making the Blue irritated. What a perfect plan, to put them both in this state.

“Just answer me… I know you're just as, as done talking as I am… But you’re the one who’s all about keeping your word and wanted us to talk in first place…” Grif said, barely audible as he held back another coughing fit.

Sullenly, Temple nodded.

“Sad but true… The talking part, I mean. Hurts like hell… Whatever, you, you think I will win no matter what you do?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Temple went right back to smiling, breathing raspily through his teeth. At least his clogged nose was finally done bleeding all over his face. “I… I can give you this one. You're right. _But._ That's just because me winning doesn’t have to mean you dying, and vice versa.”

Taking in Grif's blank stare, Temple sniffed, then immediately grimaced at the pain that followed. Though, he did manage to look insulted by both his broken nose and Grif, who still hadn’t realized what was really going on. “Guess you missed that part of the rules…?” Temple asked, while Grif's brain was doing its best to hold back his anger as he fought to keep up.

“Y-you… Getting out, you said that's the only way to save –!”

“Ehh, did I? Anyway, got nothing to add; I’ve already said enough for you to clear things out, riddles and all. Except…” Temple was looking awfully giddy again, and Grif would have felt the chill if he wasn’t already drowning in cold sweat. Not to mention having already seen too much of what Temple's mood swings had to offer.

Temple giggled, even with effort it took for him to do so, before asking:

“Would you _now_ like to hear about the ‘poison’?”

 

 


End file.
